I know parents who can’t wait for summer vacation.
“No more making lunches!” a mom of three rejoiced on the last day of school a few years ago.
“We’re totally sleeping in,” said the mom with twins.
Another mom chimed in with, “No nagging about homework for 2 whole months!”
There were moms who had vacations planned, or had already purchased season passes to Disneyland. They were as giddy as their kids about the end of school.
I was never one of those moms. I dreaded summer vacations. My only child NEVER slept past 6 AM. Baby D was a restless bundle of energy (and if you let it build up it would explode as destructively as possible).
Continue reading Summer Vacation or Summer Purgatory (#324)
Compared to Mother’s Day, Father’s Day is pretty recent. It only exists because certain politicians got all whiny about how dads in America were bereft of recognition. Instead of self-soothing with their
higher wages, or their ability to assault women with impunity, or their success despite white mediocrity, they demanded their very own holiday.
President Nixon signed Father’s Day into law in 1972. Yes, NIXON, the most corrupt U.S. President until Trump demanded Nixon hold his beer.
Mother’s Day, at best, says “thanks for all the unpaid emotional labor of child-rearing, please have this one day off.” Ironically, it often means
more work for a person who is already overworked and underpaid.
Father’s Day? Father’s Day is ridiculous. We live in a damned patriarchy. Every day is Father’s Day.
Continue reading Post Father’s Day Post (#323)
Blue hair makes practice fun!
I was my son’s first soccer coach. When various AYSO personnel made it clear that
my job was to make soccer fun so the kids would want to keep playing, that’s what I did. Having racked up ungodly numbers of hours taking care of younger siblings and babysitting for cash, I understood that holding a child’s attention is not easy. You have to creative, flexible, a little silly, a lot encouraging, and just scary enough to keep the aggressive kids in line. If the kids weren’t improving or having fun, I figured that was my fault. I spent hours adjusting and agonizing over practices and games.
My Chinese-American husband had a completely different mindset.
Continue reading A Coach of a Different Color (#297)
I thought that signing up my kid for recreational soccer meant all I’d have to sign up for would be snacks.
That’s how they get you.
AYSO always needed volunteers. They threatened to dissolve multiple teams unless parents agreed to coach. They promised the parents plenty of free training.
I gave Andy a hopeful look.
My husband said, “Hell, no. You’re the one who wanted him to play soccer.”
I caved and agreed to coach Baby D’s U6 team.
Continue reading The Reluctant Coach (#292)